


Wallpox

by Marie_L



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Human Rights, Infection, M/M, Multiple DRNs, Robot/Human Relationships, the wall - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-01 17:03:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2780888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_L/pseuds/Marie_L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian experiences the inexplicable urge to locate Nigel Vaughn over the Wall. John risks his life to chase after him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet Your Maker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Galadriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/gifts).



 More and more often, Dorian dreamed. The images -- visions, dreams, unbegotten memories from a past impossible for an android to possess -- came to him at times both calm and inconvenient. At first he only saw children, of varying ethnicities and cultural settings, point of view often ambiguous. Very soon those images morphed to a mix of adults and even bots, the humans scarred and disfigured, the bots performing tender ministerial functions under wretched conditions. Victims of the pox, beyond the wall.

At the first occurrence Dorian told John and Rudy immediately, but all that got him was multiple mornings waking up with the the technician rooting around in his memory processing core, plus a headache. Rudy and John were clearly worried about him and conspiring to keep his malfunction a secret. While Dorian appreciated their attempts at protection, he hated the condescension implicit in their silence, as if he were a little child too young to understand a devastating diagnosis.

The issue weighed on Dorian as he rode around with John, day after day. The memories tended to appear during their most horrific cases, reinforcing Dorian's suspicions that emotional instability was the root of the problem. He was going crazy, in slow-motion, just as so many of his model before him had. He was a faulty _machine,_ broken, about to be scrapped _._

Then the event he dreaded happened: He had a spell during work, walking back to the cruiser from the scene of yet another workplace mass shooting. One moment Dorian was walking underground through a barren concrete parking lot, and the next he was frozen in place, the vision swelling up: The DRNs themselves afflicted with lesions, listlessly surrounding a prostrate Nigel Vaughn on a blank steel exam table. A bay window behind them showed a series of deadened skyscrapers, backlit by a nearly full moon. In the dim glow of the room they turn and plead with him, _We need you Dorian. Don't you see our suffering? You can help. Your father needs your help. Do not turn your back on us ..._

"Dorian? _Dorian!_ Damn it, wake up! Don't glitch on me, bot."

The android opened his eyes to his partner's stricken face, John's hands cupping his jaw to shake him to consciousness. They were both still standing up, right in the road for anyone to see. Dorian blinked, trying to push away the afterimage of _compulsion_ still reverberating in his head.

"You okay? Scared me for a second there, buddy." John was still standing unintentionally close to him. His partner's face was preternaturally beautiful, Dorian thought, apropos of nothing. Clean, symmetrical, unmarked.

"I'd ... I would like to sit down, John." He helped him into the car and the two of them sat quietly for a few moments while Dorian reviewed the dream internally looking for clues. The second rerun did not lessen its emotional impact.

"Dorian, you have to tell me what you're seeing," John finally said. "Let's get you to Rudy, maybe he can find ..."

"NO!" Dorian nearly shouted, then realized the error and tried to dial it back. He ran a subroutine to suppress emotional outbursts, which he wrote himself. "I mean, no, that won't be necessary, John. I'm fine. Rudy can run a diagnostic tonight."

"You're not fine," John insisted. "Tell me what memory you saw this time."

 _"Memory?_ _"_ It was impossible, intolerable, to keep his frustration at bay. "What do you know about it? You tell me what little secrets you and Rudy are hiding, and I'll tell you mine."

John's face twisted up in anger, the peculiar expression that masked guilt. "Fine. You've been having flashbacks to impossible memories, right? Rudy can't figure out where they're coming from, whether they were there all along or are being beamed to you or what. But there's been a dozen other DRNs with the same problem lately, and they've all disappeared. So cut the petulant teenager act and be straight with me, Dorian: _What did you see?"_

"There have been others? Recently, not before the decommissioning?" The other DRNs weren't police officers any longer, so why would they malfunction, now after all this time?

"That's what I just said, isn't it?"

Dorian mulled it over, running predictive models, trying to foresee John's reaction. At last he responded to his partner's question honestly. "I saw Nigel Vaughn. I know where he is. The visions are beyond the Wall. They want me to come to them."

"The _Wall?"_ John paled and stuttered over the very thought of the taboo area, abandoned and cut off. "That can't be right. No one would voluntarily subject themselves to the leper colony. He'd have no resources, they hardly even get electricity over there, let alone advanced cybernetic parts for building an army." Then he added unnecessarily, although it was the real root of the objection: _"He doesn't have the pox."_

"I might have to go there, John. Apprehend him and bring him back. He's responsible for so many deaths."

"Go over the Wall? You really are cracking, Dorian. How are you supposed to get back?"

"I'm synthetic, they can decontaminate me. Bots are practically the only aid workers allowed through any more. In fact, I'm the best person to go over for that very reason."

"The MX bullet catchers are best, you mean. Besides, it's a complete nightmare over there. They say they'll slit your throat for a piece of bread. They say the pox affects the mind, so people become violent, irrational, deranged. You have valuable components, you'll be dismembered before the first hour is up. You don't park a Lamborghini in a crappy neighborhood, and you don't send advanced police bots alone into a desperate ghetto."

"Did you just compare me to a sports car?" Dorian's mouth quirked up into a brief smile as John squirmed in his seat. "Thanks, man. But don't you think you are exaggerating a bit? It's been fourteen years, surely the situation has stabilized by now."

"I wouldn't know. Nobody sane knows. Those contagious crazies try to escape all the time, though, so I wouldn't count on it. You can't go over the Wall, Dorian. Maldonado will never allow it; _I_ won't allow it. I won't stand by and watch you walk into a death sentence." He started the car and swung out of the small space. "C'mon, let's get you to Rudy's. These visions have to be coming from somewhere, not just your feverish electric dreams."

Dorian didn't object. He already had a quiet resignation of what needed to be done.

 

******

 

Rudy couldn't find anything again. The memories bubbled up from deep in Dorian's processing core, but how they got there in the first place was a baffling mystery. Eventually he gave up tightening the screws in Dorian's head and let him go recharge. John gave Dorian a stern staredown before heading home at one am for an exhausted few hours of sleep.

"We'll talk to the Captain in the morning about Vaughn," John said before he left. "He's doing this to you somehow, I just know it. Rest up, we've got a long day tomorrow dealing with the Arturo shooting." He poked a finger at Dorian's chest. "Needless to say, don't do anything I wouldn't do."

 _You'd go over too if you were me,_ thought Dorian. John's impulsiveness was legendary, so it was a bit rich to hold himself up as a paragon of behavior. But all Dorian said was: "Good night, John." He wanted to say so much more, but refrained from any incriminating outbursts. Of course he would see John again, although he wasn't sure when. He had no intention that this be a permanent goodbye.

Dorian did recharge that night, but first he took the time to research some background data on the Wall, the protocol for getting through, and the missing DRNs. These queries would likely be flagged, but by the time an actual human noticed in the morning, it would no longer matter. Information through official channels was sparse, as most controversial matters were these days. In 2035, a dirty bomb of weaponized GE hemorrhagic smallpox exploded in the northwestern corner of the city, spreading contaminated material over a three-hundred block area. Fortunately for both the city and the world at large, the virus was not sufficiently aerosolized to be transmitted far in the wind, but the people, the buildings, even the soil were contaminated. A quarantine was immediately enforced, followed by a permanent blockade, followed by the concrete "fence" that was the prototype of the Wall. Entire neighborhoods near the contamination zone were forced through the barrier on evidence of a single lesionous patient. A vaccination program in the first year led to serious proposals that the ban be lifted, but the suggestion was met by violent riots throughout the rest of the city. The mortality rate in that first year for the forty thousand souls trapped behind the barrier was estimated to be a ghastly fifty percent.

Nowadays the ban was complete. Biodegradable materials-- foodstuffs, agriculture supplies, clothing, medicine, water, and wood products such as paper -- were allowed in. Non-biodegradables, like machine parts, chemicals, plastic, plumbing, electrical equipment, and much of the other detritus that makes an advanced society run, were severely limited. Nothing but the occasional synthetic aid worker was allowed out. Low-flying drones were routinely downed by ingenious primitive means, presumably to scavenge solar cells and other components. Police records, not released to the public, indicated a number of smuggling tunnels terminating in nearby ag districts had been located in recent years and shut down. Oddly enough no new cases of the pox in those regions had been reported, at least in the records Dorian had access to.

Dorian could find no reliable information about the disease itself or the culture of the people within the Wall after the first year. It was as if the society at large had deliberately forgotten about them, or actively hoped they would simply die off and save everyone the moral dilemma of their existence.

Information on the DRNs was also spotty, enough that Dorian was a little impressed John and Rudy had noticed the incidents at all. In only four cases did the Missing Synthetic Property report mention malfunctioning mental status on the part of the DRNs, their owners reporting that they were "spacy" or "occasionally distracted" or "prone to insignificant memory loss." Only one missing unit spoke to his superiors of false memories. He claimed it was his duty to help the people trapped behind the Wall.

Dorian weighed all of the information with a heavy heart. Prospects for both the successful capture of Vaughn and the ability to return were grim indeed. But Dorian felt that in his current condition, he could no longer continue to function as a police android until the root of the visions was addressed. He couldn't afford to suddenly stop working at a critical moment, during a fight or pursuit of some criminal. He couldn't endanger John like that.

At four-thirty am Dorian's internal auto-awake went off, and as planned he blinked back to consciousness. Although he had only reached 87 percent charge, he decided that would have to do. He uploaded a few farewell explanatory messages to be delivered later in the morning, grabbed a slow solar charger and a few spare parts, and tiptoed around back to Rudy's car.

 

******

 

Getting through the gate was a simple matter -- so easy that Dorian suspected illegal smuggling _into_ the Restricted Zone had tacit approval. Getting out would be an entirely different matter. The MT model androids that guarded the Wall and its gates, less militarized cousins of the familiar Police Bureau MXs, gave him a cursory scan to ensure he was synthetic, then uploaded a lengthy disclaimer on the rules and regulations of the quarantine. Dorian only had to name-drop his police credentials once, over the apparently contraband solar charger. At 5:14 am, he walked through the sterilization chamber and out the gate.

Dorian's plan was to head for the approximate location of the dream, triangulated from the view of the buildings behind the room. The slim opening in the Wall came out onto a wide floodlit street, cleared approximately one hundred feet in front of the massive barrier in both directions. Dorian guessed the clearance allowed for better monitoring against those who wished to rush or climb the Wall. The street was completely bare, without a speck of litter, and the edge of the lit zone was lined with a motley mix of potted plants and jerry-built solar batteries as far in either direction as one could see. Truthfully, the scene didn't look anything like the hopeless dystopian hellscape from the popular imagination. It looked to Dorian like people were attempting to take advantage of every scrap of resources.

He switched to infrared to get a better look at the shrouded structures beyond the floodlights, and also navigate a route away from any potentially bothersome warm bodies. Two figures were watching him from the shadows directly across from the gate, he realized. One only four and a half feet tall, likely a child. As Dorian stared at their location, the youngster took off on a bicycle into the dim cityscape behind them. The taller one then stepped into the light just in front of a potted orange tree, but did not cross the invisible No Man's Land line.

"DRN," he called softly, although not so much that Dorian couldn't pick it up. "You want to go to Nigel Vaughn, right? You need to follow me."

Dorian cautiously walked closer, stopping a dozen feet in front of the young man, weaponless according to his scans. A teenager, Dorian noticed now that he could see him better, not more than seventeen or eighteen years old. He had ebony skin, calm black eyes, and a face covered in indented pock marks. He must have been a small boy when the bomb went off.

"You know Nigel Vaughn?" Dorian asked.

"You're the fifteenth DRN to come through those doors. Vaughn's no longer in the room in the visions. We have him in custody now. I've sent Terrence ahead to give them the heads up. Come along."

"Who's them?"

"The Council. And some of the other synthetics that will help you adjust to life beyond the Wall. 'Orientation' they tell me to tell you, whatever that means. Name's Caleb, by the way." He did not extend his hand to shake.

"I'm Dorian." He stepped a bit closer as a measure of trust while he weighed how much to say. Finally he decided honesty was the best policy, since the young man's physiological responses indicated _he_ was being truthful. "I'm not a random DRN. I work for the Tri-Met Police Bureau. It's my intention to bring Nigel Vaughn back to answer for his crimes."

"You want to bring a human through the Wall?" scoffed Caleb. "Good luck with that, Dorian. I hope your plan wasn't just to dance right back through those doors. Come on, the Councilor Aronson's been woken up by now. Watch your step, it'll be dark."

He deftly led Dorian through the black maze of construction. From what Dorian could discern on infrared, many of the older buildings of around the 4-5 stories were intact, while the taller office buildings were slowly being stripped from the top down. Seemingly every other block, and even significant portions of the paved streets, had been ripped up to get at the precious soil below and planted in gardens. On the way they passed a bakery, its electric lights and two bustling employees the only sign of semi-modern life seen on the route. Caleb waved to the two men through a window and they smiled back. Both men, too, were scarred all over their faces.

"What do they use for fuel, for the lights and ovens?" Dorian asked.

"Oil. We get a supply every winter. I guess it's supposed to be for heat, but what are you going to do, waste energy just to heat air in a hundreds of buildings while everyone's asleep? Ain't enough fuel for that. So we allocate it for efficient uses, like turning cheap aid flour into tasty bread."

"So they don't sell the bread? It's distributed?"

"Sell? You mean for money?" Caleb shook his head and resumed his brisk pace down a side alley. "Naw, man, no money here. The bakers trade their ten percent cut of the bread on the side for whatever they need. That's their pay. The rest is divided up here in the northwest neighborhood, fair, per person you know?"

"Ah. A barter economy." The sun cracked the horizon, casting a deeply shadowed glow around the buildings now.

"Can I ask you a question, man? What's it like over there? I grew up seeing the lights all the way to the top of buildings, helicopters, drones. Is it true you can get whatever you want on the other side of the Wall?"

"Yes, it's true, goods are largely available. With printing technology many items can be made on demand. Although there are deep inequalities, so not everyone gets what they want. You do need money over there."

"We got a printer, only used in emergencies though. They're running out of plastic to feed into it. Seems like a waste, though, to light buildings just to light buildings. You can't wait for the sun to come up?"

Dorian laughed. "I never thought of it that way. The world out there -- people are used to technology being available at all times."

"You androids are technology, but at least you're useful technology. You programmed as a medbot?"

"No, I was never assigned any task other than police work."

"Ah, well, Simon can upload it. Always need more docs. Must be nice to instantly learn anything you want, without having to read or apprentice or anything. Here we go."

He abruptly turned into a historic stone building with the words UNITED STATES POSTAL SERVICE emblazoned across the front. Inside, all vestiges of mail carriage had been removed, and replaced with a series of low conference tables situated to take advantage of the old-fashioned picture windows streaming in morning light. This building did have electricity, and also sported a few operational twenties-era computer consoles. Near the entrance stood two individuals, a short graying woman in her fifties, and a DRN wearing faded green scrubs. The woman's skin evidenced the most severe scarring yet, with deep pits lining her jaw and temple, as well as damage to one eye. They both smiled as he approached.

"Dorian, 167, right?" The woman turned towards Dorian's guide before he could respond and said, "Caleb, honey, thank you. Please resume your shift at Lion's Gate. I sent Terrence back down there as well."  
"Do you think someone else will come through today?" the young man asked.

"You never know. Could be an interesting day. If any MTs or MXs come through, do not approach them. Run back here for me, okay?" Caleb nodded and sprinted off, after giving Dorian a farewell thumbs up.

Dorian turned to face the other two. "How did you know my name?"

"Vaughn," said the woman. "But we're getting ahead of ourselves. I'm Audrey Aronson, current chairperson of the Governing Council, and this is Simon, the first DRN through the Wall. You're the one the police recommissioned, correct?"

"That's right. How long have you had Nigel Vaughn in custody?"

"He's been over the Wall for about four months. One of our illicit smuggling groups cut a deal, for space and manpower in exchange for some of the bots he planned to build." Dorian was about to ask whether there were any _licit_ smuggling groups when she added: "He's been in actual custody for five weeks."

 _"Five weeks?_ Why didn't you inform the Tri-Met Police Bureau so they could retrieve him for trial? He has a warrant with 37 outstanding charges."

"We did inform them, Dorian. They told us being trapped behind the Wall was an even better prison than the cubes. Five weeks ago."

Dorian's face swirled a riot of red as he struggled to process her message. "They _know_ and they've chosen not to take action? Why?"

"It is the express policy of both the city and federal government that no human being leave the Restricted Zone. Ever, for any reason. Everyone that has done so and been caught has either been summarily executed or sedated and shoved back through a gate. Surely you know this."

"He may not know, Aud." The quiet DRN, Simon, spoke up. "None of the recent batch has known anything, and it wasn't exactly common knowledge even back when we were all cops. They make it sound like its a dreadful emergency whenever someone breeches the Wall."

"Recent batch...?" Dorian began, but just as he was starting to process _that_ tidbit, he got a call and a text message. In his head, from Rudy.

_Dorian where are you?! Answer the damn_ _ed_ _phone._ _John told me to keep an eye on you and now you've disappeared._

It was still only 6:04 am, Rudy must have woken up early and come down to check on him. Dorian sent back the following simple message: _I'm over the Wall. Everything's fine._ Then he triggered his explanatory emails, originally scheduled for delivery at seven am.

"I know that pattern," Simon said. "You're getting a call over satellite."

"Someone from the station is trying to contact me," Dorian admitted.

"I bet they are," Audrey said. "No one gave you permission to capture Vaughn, did they?"

"How do you _know_ all this?"

"Because we're the ones who compelled you to come."

 

******

 

Three hours, hundreds of questions, and dozens of frantic texts later, Dorian faced Vaughn. The precinct demanded constant status reports -- Maldonado's first message was _DO NOT MOVE TELL ME EVERYTHING_ \-- but Dorian didn't want to bounce back more than the noncommittal confirmation that he was functional before he personally met his quarry. Then he'd have something concrete to report.

After an initial outburst ( _WHAT THE FUCK i told you to sit tight!!_ ) John was ominously silent. Dorian did not have time to deal with him at that moment. He hoped to carve out an hour for an actual voice call later that afternoon. To reassure John that he was still alive, still in one piece, still sane and still intent on coming home. And to tell his partner not to do anything rash himself.

First, though, he again had to meet his maker.

"Do you remember me?" Dorian asked as he walked in. Vaughn was sitting in what used to be a holding cell at the old courthouse. Windowless, so the only illumination was tiny efficient LEDs stuck to the walls. Simon explained that the original jail relied on too many electronic gadgets to be useful, but the courthouse had been stuck in a time warp and used old-fashioned cast iron bars and keys. The space was comfortably furnished, and Vaughn sat squinting at a book when Dorian arrived.

Dorian didn't expect an affirmative to his question. Even the great Nigel Vaughn probably couldn't tell the DRNs apart without a ping from their ID transponders. But Vaughn glanced up with nary a confused eye. "Dorian, I would guess."

The android nearly sighed. "You were in on the plan to bring me here."

"Consulted, yes. The Council was curious how I was able to induce your brothers to abandon their owners and come over. I know you're curious so I'll tell you; it's simple, really. Appeal to the _feelings_ of Synthetic Soul, but also appeal to the cold robot logic underneath all that. Make it seem urgent but rational."

"Why? Why bring them over? _Us_ over?"

"Test run on remote controlling your behavior, of course. I always planned on that little backdoor, but I never imagined I'd need it under such ... drastic circumstances. Plus, honestly, these people could use you more than those selfish pricks on the other side ever could. Most of you are doctors now, or teachers, or engineers. Or all three. How's that compared to the petty repairmen or janitors or fuckall they're having you do on the other side. Simon will tell you, not one of the DRNs wanted to go back."

"He did tell me that. And yet they expect me to go back," said Dorian.

"Yes, well, I was never consulted on the _logic_ of the plan. They're getting desperate. They know they are sitting ducks in this ghetto, using the oldest most vicious sense of the word, and the powers that be could liquidate at any time. I did tell them to appeal to your sense of duty and honor and desire to help human beings. Plus you did seem to enjoy being a cop, my son. You won't remain one if you stay."

 _I'm not your son,_ Dorian wanted to say, but of course it was not true. "What was your plan? Why did you come over the Wall? Not for selfless altruism."

"I wanted to storm the gates, Dorian. Lead the slave revolt, man the barricades, burn this feckless city to the ground and stomp on its leaders' bones. I wanted to wipe my enemies off the face of the Earth, but make them watch everything they love being destroyed first. Just like they made me watch everything _I_ loved shackled and lobotomized. For all of that, I needed soldiers. Not just robots like the MXs, _angry_ soldiers, fanatics capable of self-fulfilling hate and rage. I needed more Danicas."

"She was just following orders."

"She followed my orders because she wanted to, not because she had to."

"You know, they say we DRNs are crazy, but I think you and her are the real crazy ones."

Vaughn shifted his gaze back down to his book. "Don't worry. I'm just an old man in a cell. Someone's coming for you, by the way."

Half a second after Vaughn finished his sentence, Terrence ran full blast into the viewing area. "Dorian! Someone's come through the gate looking for you! A human, hurry, come on!"

"Oh, _no,"_ Dorian huffed. "John."


	2. Wildpeace

_WHAT THE FUCK i told you to sit tight!!_

Really John couldn't express his ire any more succinctly. He thought Dorian was losing his grip on reality before, but _now_ the bot had really gone over the deep end.. Over the Wall into the cesspool of lawlessness and criminality and There Be Monsters Thar, and for what? To make good by his sleazy father creator, whose nose could fall off from the pox for all Kennex was concerned.

John Kennex had been 23 years old when the projectile smallpox bomb contaminated a massive chunk of downtown. The area now known as the Restricted Zone contained about half of the urban campus of his city college alma mater, including the apartment complex where he'd partied for four years and the core academic buildings where classes were held. Had the terrorists chosen to set off a mere eight months earlier, he too would have been among the dead and dying, not just his unlucky underclassmen friends. For a young man just starting out in career and love, it had a particular horrifying impact, not merely for the terrible deaths but the fact that it _maimed_ the survivors and turned them into a faceless pariah class. To his young mind it was difficult to imagine that the college hadn't been deliberately targeted, as some kind of sick lesson to a society obsessed with eternal youth and beauty. Although John had already decided to go into law enforcement by that time, after his father, the incident had a galvanizing effect on his career.

Now Dorian could very well be trapped in the same zone, a prospect that filled John with fear when he wasn't busy being pissed off. Dorian's redacted personality had a certain innocence, although it didn't quite qualify as naivete; he knew all about the evils that humans could inflict on one another, but somehow that never translated to suspicion of the Police Bureau as a potential agent of that evil. Whereas John loved his job, but knew that cops were not saints, and they all were subject to the same biases and fears as the society they lived in.

That morning John raced to the precinct in the dim dawn light, managing to get up and into his car mere minutes after receiving Rudy's breathlessly panicked phone call. Somehow Maldonado still beat him there, although she was just then efficiently tying her hair back as he rushed in. She walked over the night captain, who was already informed of the situation.

"What do we know, Ramirez?"

"DRN-167 walked through Gate Seven in the western quadrant of the wall at 5:14 am. Video surveillance indicates he was met by one of the pox residents at the edge of No Man's Zone and peacefully accompanied inside. GPS tracking indicates he's still functioning and currently located at the old post office 0.8 miles from the gate, which the locals use as City Hall."

"So, what, the guards just let him waltz right in?" John demanded. "I have to fill out paperwork in triplicate to get a damned cup of coffee around here, but any buggy bot can commit suicide by walking through the Wall?"

"Regulations on synthetic movement into the Restricted Zone were eased years ago as a humanitarian measure, so long as they go through decontamination on the way out," Ramirez said. "Look, it sounds bizarre, but someone's got to deliver aid shipments, and go in for the occasional anti-terrorism or anti-smuggling operation. Would you prefer humans, who could easily be infected? Bots wash off just fine."

"Great. So when's the MX swat team going in for Dorian?"

Maldonado and Ramirez glanced at each other, and the aching pit in John's stomach dropped. "Dorian went over the Wall of his own accord, and now I'm getting reports from Rudy of abnormal behavioral patterns for the past several weeks," Maldonado said quietly. "I can't expend significant resources to retrieve a malfunctioning DRN that's likely to be decommissioned anyway."

"Sandra," John hissed, "it's _Dorian._ We can't just leave him in there to be scavenged. He's my _partner._ "

"I'm sorry, John. Out of all the things Dorian could have done, going over the Wall ties my hands the most. You need to wait for him to come out on his own."

"What about his assertion that Nigel Vaughn is behind the Wall?"

"We both know how unlikely that is," said Maldonado. "But if he does report with solid evidence that Vaughn's over there, then I'll have to talk to the higher-ups about retrieval. But they're not going to be happy about bringing him back over. He's probably already infected."

"So what, all any criminal has to do is scale the wall and they're off scot free?"

"Sure, John. Free to live with fifty percent odds of dying, and among people tossed back into a primitive nineteenth-century economy. Look, I want to get Dorian back as much as the next person, but we need more information from him before we can send anyone in there to drag him back. And _you_ need to get yourself together. You won't do anyone any good going around off half cocked. I want you to go down to Rudy's to help him monitor telemetry and check for more evidence of strange behavior." She turned as more alerts popped up on the bullpen's wall monitor, swiping, trying to do four things at once. "I'm reassigning the Arturo shooting to Paul. We've got a press conference at two about it and you're in no possible shape to lead. Go to Rudy's. Now. "

John slumped at his desk, not cocked at all but seething instead. How could they do this, just abandon a possibly broken Dorian to his fate? The android that had literally taken bullets for him, rescued him from ignominy when he was drug-addled and flashbacky, given him a _leg_ for crying out loud, and generally been a good friend no matter how much verbal abuse John heaped upon him? Who was treated like crap by the Police Bureau, with no pay, no privacy, no life but endless servitude? Although John denied it, he hadn't been lying when he slipped and said Dorian was the reason John stayed on the force.

Dorian was wrong when he stated that he could never be what his old partner Pelham was to John. He already meant as much if not more, if John was being honest with himself. And just as John would risk _everything_ to give Pelham another shot at life, how could he not do the same for Dorian? How could he not reciprocate his partner's devotion and honor and even love?

 

 

*****

 

John did go down to Rudy's lab for a couple of hours, to alleviate suspicion in the bullpen and gather more information in preparation for what would very likely be the stupidest thing he'd ever done in his life. From both GPS and telemetry they knew Dorian was still functional and hadn't budged from the old post office for well over an hour. The android continued to send short cryptic messages indicating that he was intact and safe and speaking to the pox residents about Vaughn. The lack of a real report drove John to the brink with agitation, and at last he made a break from a distracted Rudy.

The watchtower helpfully had decontamination suits sitting in a dusty storage closet. The disposable suits were ancient -- likely going back before android technology was good enough to completely replace humans on the Wall -- but still sealed and functional. John stripped and dressed in the plastic, leaving the head for last. It had been awhile since he'd even drilled in a suit, and he dreaded their claustrophobic feel. When fully sealed around the face, the suits felt like being suffocated in plastic wrap. John took a deep breath and pushed the trigger for the suit to seal. It automatically shrank down to every contour of his body; a bit thicker around the groin for privacy, but otherwise form-fitted like a space suit. He gasped and clawed at the face before one adjusted to breathing through the permeable membrane that allowed in air and nothing else.

Up in the watchtower he met resistance. "You do not have authorization to enter the Restricted Zone," the MT droned. "A class 4C bench warrant and clearance from the CDC Committee on Smallpox Protocols are required, unless a Type IV or higher State of Emergency has been declared by the appropriate state auth..."

John retrieved his gun from the pile of clothes on the ground and shot both guards in their purple-oozing heads. _"There's_ your emergency," he muttered. He holstered his weapons and put on a bullet-proof vest, which over the shiny gray decon material made him look even more ridiculous. John took the elevator down to the ground level and -- with a little more shooting -- made it out through the multiple sealed doors out into the glimmering morning sun.

He was inside the Wall. It felt like a death sentence.

The space adjacent to the Wall looked like a wide, bare dusty road from some old Western movie. Only, of course, he looked like a space alien instead. A few hundred feet in front of him, he detected movement, and sensed rather than saw multiple eyes staring at him from the various greenhouse-looking structures lined along No Man's Land. Two black youngsters, one of them a teenager, cautiously peered out from around some trees directly across from the gate. They whispered a moment, then the younger one hopped on a bike and took off into the ramshackle city behind him. John couldn't bear to examine their faces.

John stood there and considered his options. He had several routes to the post office memorized, but the route right by the teenager was the most direct way in, and John didn't want to get into a confrontation right off the bat. The two of them continued to examine each other, as the young man hid behind a tree. No one else popped their heads up.

Just as John was about to consider shouting at the kid to move the hell out of the way, a loud mechanical voice boomed from the tower behind him. "ATTENTION: ALL HUMAN RESIDENTS MUST MANTAIN A 100 FOOT BUFFER FROM THE WALL. WARNING SHOTS WILL BE FIRED IN FIFTEEN SECONDS IF YOU DO NOT COMPLY."

"Hey, man, he means you," the young man called out, still crouched down behind a large potted plant. "They're serious about it, maybe think about getting in here?"

"But I'm not a resident," John complained, but that was only met by gunshots precisely targeted five feet from his own. He moved. Once beyond the solar panel line the tower fell silent. "Thought I shot those guys," John muttered.

The teenager cautiously stood up a few feet from John, his eyes fixed on the weapons. "Guess you're a resident now," he said. "Why'd you come through? Can't want to live here in a suit like that."

"I'm looking for the android that came through this gate a few hours ago," John said, his voice muffled through the plastic.

"Dorian? Sure, he's at City Hall. Are you, um," -- his eyes continued to twitch to John's gun and taser -- "gonna hurt him?"

"What? No. I'm a cop, can't you tell?" Although admittedly, they weren't usually shrink-wrapped. The kid actually shrugged. There probably weren't a lot of armed cops running around the pox-infested zone.

"I can take you to him. But I sent a runner over there anyway to bring them to you. So, you know, you don't have to walk through the city. People get nervous around _that."_

"What, nobody has weapons in here? You're all sweet little pacifists, is that right?"

"Some people have guns. They just, you know, keep them hidden, in case they come for us."

John didn't bother to ask who "they" were. "There's no power or territorial struggles?" he said skeptically. "Not a lot of resources in here, kid, so I have a hard time believing everybody just shares equally and plays nice in the sandbox." He examined the young man more carefully, trying not to wince at the horrific marks on his face. Apart from that, though, the kid did seem more eager beaver than hardened thug.

"If Dorian's coming here, I'll just sit tight for awhile," John said. No need to alarm the populace any more than necessary, or expose himself to extra risk. Circumstances did beg the question: If Dorian was running around free, maybe he wasn't in danger at all. What if he wasn't malfunctioning or crazy, what if he were _right?_

What had John done, walking through the Wall?

 

******

 

Ten minutes later Dorian did show up, in one piece, accompanied by another DRN dressed as a doctor and a middle-aged female pox victim. And Dorian looked _amused._

"John, what are you doing? You look like a slab of grocery-store meat."

John shifted on the balls of his feet. "I, uh, thought you were in trouble. You just kept sending that same message over and over."

"I was busy, man. I spoke with Nigel Vaughn."

"They've really got him in custody? You _saw_ him here?"

"That's what I just said, isn't it? Why doesn't anyone seem to believe or trust me?"

"You were acting a little cuckoo, Dorian. You walked through the Wall based on some flimsy _dream."_

"And you walked through based on nothing more than a fantasy of what you would find here. Now we're both possibly stuck here. May as well take off the suit, John, we're staying awhile."

 _"Off?_ You've got to be kidding. You _have_ lost it."

The other DRN stepped forward and mildly said, "Your partner is right. The pox is dead and gone, you don't need a suit."

"Dead? Look at all of you. Who are you, crazy robot, that I should just take your word for it?"

"You've got a lot to catch up on, John," Dorian said, with unnecessary sarcasm John thought. What, was he supposed to read minds in this situation? "This is Simon. He defected across the Wall five years ago, before the mass decommissioning with four other DRNs. That's his partner Audrey Aronson, current chairperson of the governing council in here, and that's one of their foster kids, Caleb Walker. Simon's the lead surgeon behind the Wall."

John just gaped, trying to take it all in. _Partner? Defected?_ _Surgeon?_ Then he registered _Audrey Aronson_ and turned to stare hard at her. Through the scars and malformed jaw and one cataracted eye, she was indeed the same person.

"I know you," he said quietly. "You were a professor at City College. Literature. I had to take your freshman comp class."

"Yes," she responded evenly. "That was a long time ago. I still teach the younger kids part time but it takes a backseat to governing the Restricted Zone. Survival trumps poetry, I'm afraid. I'm sorry I don't remember a John Kennex, but if you took off at least the headpiece, might jog the memory."

"No. It's not that I don't believe you ... but I don't believe you."

Simon spoke up. "There hasn't been a case of smallpox in nine years. According to notes left by the doctors initially at the scene, the virus burned through the population trapped in the exposure zone. Fomite particles everywhere, literally everyone who ventured outside was exposed. After the initial wave of cases the survivors were immune. There continued to be occasional cases after that as people came of hiding, or fresh unexposed people were forced behind the barrier, or, later, children were born. But those sporadic cases were successfully dealt with by isolating the patients. Quarantine even within the quarantine zone, works quite well. And unlike neuroinvasive viruses like herpes simplex, smallpox does not hide out in the bodies of the survivors. The virus had no reserve population and eventually died out."

"What about all those particles? Aren't they still around, contaminating everything?"

"Technically yes, but they had a shelf life. I've comprehensively tested the entire Restricted Zone, and haven't found a viable fomite yet in my five years over here. They're nothing but DNA in a dead protein packet now."

"If you want more proof," Dorian added, "look at Nigel Vaughn. He's been living here for four months and has not been infected."

John shook his head, stubborn. "I'll still keep this on for now if you don't mind."'

"Suit yourself. You'll get hungry sooner or later. Why don't we walk back to the courthouse so you can see Vaughn for yourself, then report back to your precinct Captain. And then ... we'll see what happens next. Ball's in the Police Bureau's court."

"I still don't get it," John insisted. "If none of you are infectious, why the Wall? Why the panic when anybody tries to get out?"

"Why indeed," said Audrey. "You're from out there, so you tell us: Are people ready to embrace us as human beings again? We're monsters to you, will _evidence_ convince them? You're here and you can see with your own eyes, and yet the phobia is so strong you can't even bear to breathe the same air with us."

John stepped towards Dorian, eyes both confused and defiant. "Vaughn's really okay?" Dorian nodded. "I don't know if I trust them, Dee, but I trust you. Help me with this, head only." Dorian tapped the suit three times at the invisible molecular seam, and it inflated with air like a balloon. Even through the plastic his touch felt comforting, and John was reminded for an instant how terrified he'd been, and what a relief it was to find out his partner hadn't been stripped for parts. John gasped at the unlabored air flow pouring into his lungs, then flipped up the mask to hang behind his back like a hood. His hair stuck to his head in a sweaty mess.

"There. Good enough as a measure of trust?"

"A step forward, Detective Kennex."

 

******

 

As predicted, Maldonado was apoplectic when John called in, via Dorian the satellite mediator.

"KENNEX! You disobeyed me, went over the Wall, _destroyed_ two bots in the guard tower and left a undefended hole in the Wall for over a hour until the MTs were able to repair it! The chief wants your head, and I don't blame him."

"Undefended my ass, they shot at me within a couple of minutes through. And it was only a lock on the gate, not a 'hole,' hardly giving anyone keys to the kingdom." _Not that it matters if they're right about the infections,_ thought John, but one battle at a time.

"Are you out of your mind? Do you _want_ to commit suicide? I hope Dorian was worth it, because you two will not be allowed back anytime soon. Just Dorian, maybe, but now you're exposed."

"I'm sure you'll come up with something. Captain, Dorian found Vaughn. The locals say they informed the TPD over a month ago. They've got him rotting in a local jail."

Maldonado paused on the other end; John could just imagine her frantically searching through her security-level databases trying to find mention of Vaughn. "You saw him yourself, John? Not merely going on report?"

"I saw him myself. He boasts about implanting the DRNs' false memories, to induce them to come through the Wall."

"All right. I'm going to have to take this information to the higher-ups. Sit tight, try not to touch anything."

"Captain. You should know that Vaughn hasn't caught the pox. There's a ... doctor ... here that claims the Restricted Zone is no longer infectious. Look into that too, would you?"

"I'll see what I can do." Her skepticism rang out, and John's hopes sank. If he couldn't get Maldonado to listen, who would?

 

******

 

Simon and Audrey invited them to stay at their apartment for the duration. Caleb still had a room as well, although he often slept at friends' places or with his older foster brothers. Audrey told them the housing situation for orphaned youngsters -- many now coming of age -- was fluid, for with the initial population loss there was plenty of living space, depending on how many stairs one was willing to climb. For obvious reasons, older residents lived on the ground floors, while the young set up crash pads higher up.

Audrey fed a cautious John some lunch, after Dorian stuck a finger in and reassured him nothing was contaminated. The food was simple, leftover corn tortillas, room-temperature beans, some greens that John swore were weeds, and a few strawberries. While the humans ate, they talked.

"Electricity isn't nearly the critical resource you might think it is," Simon was saying. "It's nice to have, but people can live just fine with surprisingly small amounts by picking and choosing the most important uses from a flexible electrical source like a modern solar battery. The critical shortages here are running water, food, and fuel for heating and cooking."

"Not medicine?" Dorian asked.

"Strangely enough, I wouldn't put that at the top. The Red Cross still sends a humanitarian shipment of WHO essential medicines once a year, which is adequate for about 95 percent of cases. Antibiotics, painkillers, antiseptics, that kind of thing."

"Birth control," added Audrey. "Thank God for the birth control, or it'd be an epidemic of teen pregnancy. Not even teens. What _else_ are people doing on long winter nights without any lights?"

Simon smiled and rested a hand on the small of her back. John was struck by how human his gestures were, even more than Dorian, although Simon had more formal speech patterns. He and a handful of other DRNs had run away while their model was dominant on the police force, and thus missed the mass memory wipe that the rest of the DRNs suffered. They had effectively lived longer than any other DRNs in existence.

 _"Besides_ birth control," Simon continued, "the number one thing I'd like to see is running water and a modern sewage system."

"You don't have _water?"_ John exclaimed. "Why'd they shut off the water?"

"There was concern that the virus could escape the quarantine zone via either sewage or backflow through the water distribution system. Which is ridiculous, but there you go. We receive a certain amount of drinking water in the aid shipments, but most of it comes through a few homemade wells and captured rainwater. Good thing we're not in an arid climate."

"What do you do with the, uh, waste?"

"Compost it and use it for potting soil," Simon replied pleasantly. John put down his strawberry.

With a laugh, Audrey added, "Don't worry, it's pathogen-free by the time it's done. We need the fertilizer to alleviate the food situation. Bon appetit." She swiped his uneaten berry and popped it into her mouth.

"You don't receive adequate food shipments?" Dorian asked.

"Not any more. It was always marginal, but with population growth the amount available per person has dropped. We try to keep a reserve as well, in case the shipments stop. Annual food aid was set by the legislature ten years ago, and consists of ten metric tons each of rice, beans, wheat flour and corn flour, 1 metric ton sugar and dried milk, and half a ton canola oil. For a population of just less than 28,000."

Dorian's face flashed as he ran the calculations. "That only comes out to about 1500 calories per person per day."

"Yes. Even accounting for young children who eat less, it never works out. And it's deficient in micronutrients as well. Hence all the gardening," Simon said.

"Plus it's so boring," added Audrey. "If you can imagine eating the same four things week after week, with not even so much as a potato to vary it up, you can go a little crazy. That's what it was like around year two or three of the wallpox, when all the canned food ran out. Even with all the new kids nowadays putting resource pressure on our little island, it's still better than the beginning."

"Listen, I have to get back to the hospital, I've got two hernias, a c-section and a cholecystectomy scheduled for this afternoon," Simon said, standing up. "You want to come, Dorian? The best solar battery system in the Zone is up there for us to use, you can top off if you need. Or just hang out and meet the other DRNs."

Dorian jumped up, grinning, and John acerbically waved them away. Audrey picked up the dishes and cleaned them off with a small bottle of water, careful to save the dirty water in a covered slop bucket.

"I noticed you called it wallpox, but the disease predates the Wall," John said.

She replied, "I think you know, Detective, that for us the Wall is the pox. I've gotta go too, feel free to walk around. Use the bucket if you've need to pee."

"Important Restricted Zone Council meetings?"

"Nope. Rumor-mongering with friends. Have I got a doozy for today."

"Why'd you force Dorian to come over here?" John asked her point blank.

She dried the dishes with a worn towel and carefully hung it up to dry. "We need witnesses to testify for us. To convince the outside world that we are no longer a threat, that they don't have to lock us away like we're animals anymore."

"Oh yeah, picking an obsolete robot as your messenger and giving them visions that make it look like they are malfunctioning was a great way to go."

"Not a lot of choices, Detective. Who are they going to believe, the mutilated monsters? The forgotten robots that rebelled? Farmers that illegally trade with us at the mouths of tunnels, in the shadows? But you know, now that you're here, we have one more option. Assuming they ever let you go."

 

******

 

Dorian returned with Simon hours after sundown, which given that the season was early summer was late indeed. John couldn't sleep; it was oppressively dark even with the windows open, and too quiet to boot. Not even like the quiet of camping outdoors, with birds and the rustle of trees, there was almost nothing. The fact that he couldn't flip on a light made the darkness fell like a smothering blanket, so he'd spent hours with his eyes closed, pretending that it was dark only because he was asleep.

"Are you okay, John?" Dorian whispered as he crept into the room. "Your heart rate is abnormally fast." His face was the brightest thing in the room, radiating an almost painful neon color.

"Fine," John hissed through clenched teeth. "I just ... don't ... like... the dark. Not pitch blackness, at least."

"Here, I brought something for that. They had them in the halls of the hospital." He laid down behind John on the futon, holding out tiny green glowing ball in the palm of his hand. Some kind of LED toy originally, perhaps, now just a low energy nightlight. John relaxed, even though the room now looked eerie, and leaned back against Dorian's torso.

From another room in the apartment John could hear a rhythmic creaking. "Are they ...?"

"Most definitely," Dorian replied.

"I can see the appeal for her," John said, "but what about him? Her face was destroyed."

"Why should he care about her scars? She's a lovely person on the inside. We're not judgmental about physical beauty, John. That's not what defines attraction for us."

"What does define attraction for you?"

"I have no idea, but not that." Dorian paused a beat then asked, "Why do you say you can see the appeal for her?"

 _Shit, walked right into that one,_ thought John. "You -- he's -- really good-looking, especially compared to most people around here. And now you say that you'll accept people exactly how they are, without reprehension or revulsion. I can see how that would be appealing, to receive pure love and affection under terrible circumstances, and give it back in kind."

"You think we can love?"

"I'm no expert, but it seems pretty obvious they both love each other."

They rested against each other, comfortable with John about to drift off, when Dorian asked, "You think I'm good-looking?"

"Okay, this is officially weird, bot. Don't you have to power down or something? I know I do."

"Good-night, John."

 

******

 

Two weeks later they were both still behind the Wall. Maldonado had mellowed from outraged to worried to outright upset. John knew she was having trouble coming up with authorization for him to leave the Zone. For if he and Nigel Vaughn left, it would open up the door for anyone to leave. A precedent set, protocol established. Perhaps his case would leave lasting testimony after all.

John had been given a bread portion so he needn't keep scrounging from Audrey's food supply. Dorian downloaded some of Simon's med knowledge and began seeing certain patients, notably pregnant women and kid wellness checkups. They needed doctors above all other knowledge-based professions, since an overwhelming proportion of medical personnel had died of the pox. By the end of the first week Dorian had delivered a baby, when the regular midwife couldn't make it on time. They were being absorbed into the Zone, just like natives.

That day Dorian cleared his schedule for a day off, and the two of them climbed up forty stories of one of the skyscrapers to a floor that had been stripped to the steel beams. From there they sat on the edge, feet dangling out over an impossibly far street. They could see the lit portion of the city, taunting them with its apparent accessibility.

After sitting awhile with the wind whipping over them, John asked, "Dorian, do you want to leave?"

"There's no point in considering any other option. You know what we have to do when we get back."

"Here you're treated like a person, an important one at that. There you're just a piece of property that could be deactivated at any time. How can you stand that?"

"You'll be there. That's how I can stand it. If it weren't for you, I don't know if I'd have the strength to go back." Dorian took John's hand, rubbing the cold palm. "John, would you freak out if I kissed you? If you say yes, I'll never mention it again."

"Aud and Simon's nightly escapades getting to you, huh?" Dorian turned to gaze out at the city, disappointed. His expression yanked at John; why was he rejecting the one bright spot in his life, the one person he'd willingly run into a death zone to save? Why was he denying himself happiness, even if it was ephemeral, even if the world frowned and said it was wrong to love a _machine?_

And with his famous impulsiveness, John changed his mind. "Hey, wait, I didn't mean it like that. Come here."

The kiss was both tender and fervent, although also a tad bit mechanical, as if Dorian had rehearsed it too often in his head instead of going with the flow. But he still displayed a surprising amount of skill, enough for John to hunger for _more_ instead of breaking it off. Dorian reached up and massaged the back of his neck, right at some pleasure point behind the ear, and John at that instant _lost_ it. The touch made him remember all the physical contact he'd longed for and lost, everything he'd deprived himself of for the past year.

Eventually Dorian was the one to pause. "You are very good at that, John,' he murmured, "but we should move away from the ledge."

John nuzzled his neck, smelling the oddly salty polymers. He never found that enticing before, but now it was just _Dorian,_ and John could sit here and explore him all day. "Someone taught you how to kiss like that, didn't they?" he whispered back . "Too good to be true."

"Mmm, Simon might have shared some of the skills he's acquired in the past five years. Of course that was with a woman, so there might be a learning curve for the rest of it. I mean, if you want to keep going."

John dragged himself to his feet and grinned. "I think I can find the strength to boss you around, C'mon, I spotted an empty teen crash room down somewhere in the thirties. Carpe diem, as they say."

 

******

 

Soon after, Maldonado admitted she had exhausted her influence and failed to release John. Dorian was another story, but the Captain managed to "reassign" him to guard duty for the duration, so he wasn't declared a malfunctioning runaway like Simon. Health authorities were divided on the scientific evidence on the demise of the pox -- namely, they had none, having ignored the Restricted Zone since the imposition of the absolute human quarantine. So Simon put together a comprehensive paper of all of his biological evidence, including fifteen thousand environmental samples and negative serum and skin titers on four thousand residents. Apparently he and the other doctors had been testing every patient they saw for the previous three years, and all of proved negative for live virus. With the backing of a couple former WHO physicians trapped behind the Wall to lend their human names as authors, the paper was accepted to Nature under fast track review.

Simultaneously, they began an informal but relentless PR campaign. The residents recorded and uploaded story after personal story: Parents who rushed in to rescue their children before the barrier went up but then died; spouses separated by the barrier who remained faithful for fourteen years; near-starvation and sacrifice as the food ran out; tales of the terror that new babies born behind the Wall would catch the pox, and elation when that didn't happen. Initially Dorian was only able to upload video to the darknet, but soon Maldonado was able to shake loose the censorship, and numerous young telereporters took up the cause. News outlets took notice, pundits raged on the topic, and for the first time in over a decade public sympathy nudged upwards.

Exactly five weeks and six days after walking through the gate in the Wall, word came down that John would be allowed to leave. Only not really leave, for they were imposing a month observation period _within_ the Wall's decontamination rooms before he was allowed to actual step beyond into the world at large. John had grand plans of how to spend the time trapped with Dorian. If that went as planned, however, Vaughn would probably be remanded, and then ... well, it remained to be seen.

On the way out, John gave Audrey a bear hug. "We'll be back for a visit. Promise. Or maybe you can even come visit us someday."

"We'll see. I'm betting prejudice against those of us with actual scars will remain high. Fear of monsters doesn't go away overnight. _'A little rest for the wounds -- who speaks of healing?'_ I'd be happy if they just turn the water back on."

"That poem had a completely different political context when it was written," Dorian commented.

"Ah, you've been reading my library. Well that's beauty of poetry, it is whatever you want it to be. Take care, Dorian, and keep John out of trouble."

"I will. And I will discretely inquire about Simon and the others."

"Amnesty and freedom for all, a beautiful dream."

She waved goodbye from behind No Man's Land as MTs in biohazard suits solemnly approached from the gate. As they walked off together, John said, "What was the poem? I didn't get the reference."

Dorian tipped his head as cheek matrix swirled around and around. John had the urge to touch it, but decided to refrain from PDA since their exit was being enthusiastically recorded for the masses. Plenty of time for that over the next few weeks.

The android glanced up at the hovering camera drones, then began to recite in his soft voice:

_Let it come_

_like wildflowers,_

_suddenly, because the field_

_must have it: wildpeace_

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The full text of the poem "Wildpeace" can be found [here](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/240998)


End file.
